


Coitus Reservatus: Deleted Scene

by mydarlingbenedict (LiraDonne)



Series: Coitus Reservatus Series [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiraDonne/pseuds/mydarlingbenedict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock asked John for orgasm denial. He <em>needed</em> it to clear his mind and occupy his body. When it was over, his brain would be clear to think.</p>
<p>He didn't anticipate . . . <em>this</em>.</p>
<p>
  <span class="small">
    <em>This is a deleted scene from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/564270">Coitus Reservatus</a>. It can be read as a stand-alone, but if you enjoy this (and would like to read 12k more words of the same), consider heading over to read the original.</em>
  </span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coitus Reservatus: Deleted Scene

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> This was written in six months ago as a teaser for [consultingdepressive](http://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingdepressive/), long before [Coitus Reservatus](http://archiveofourown.org/works/564270) was finished. It was meant to be a middle section, around which I needed to write backstory and resolution.
> 
> As it turned out, Coitus Reservatus went in a different direction than expected. I wasn't able to fit this bit back in.
> 
> Both of my lovely Betas ([FlirtyAmy](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/3099154/) and [Morgana-le-Fai](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/3069801/)) liked it enough to ask me to post it. Who am I to deny them? :-)

They’d been going at it for hours now, John running his calloused hands across Sherlock’s skin—locating every erogenous zone, staying just long enough to make Sherlock whinge and contort with need, then abandoning the skin for a different area—until every cell in Sherlock’s body was fit to burst.

Actually, no. Sherlock was going crazy after the first twenty minutes. Now, he was going positively insane.

Sherlock whimpered and tugged at his restraints (not something he’d initially wanted, but they turned out to be the only way for Sherlock to keep his hands off of his own cock without John having to hold him down—and that would be a poor use of John’s hands). The silk was soft; Sherlock didn’t want to be distracted by chafing or pain. That’s not what this is about.

“Please, John,” he begged, not for the first time.

John looked up at him beneath sand-coloured lashes and flashed a wicked smile.

“Not yet.” He licked a stripe up the inside of Sherlock’s thigh, stopping just short of the place Sherlock wanted him most.

Sherlock whinged, letting his head fall back against the mattress. John was going to kill him.

And it was Sherlock’s fault, really. He’d asked for this.

Why had he done that? What had he been thinking? This was awful. Horrible. The pleasure of building up anticipation was so intense that it was painful, both physically and mentally. His balls were heavy and aching with the pressure of semen built up for so long without release. His cock hurt from straining upward, arching toward something it wanted but wasn’t getting. Sherlock wanted to be touched, yes, but he wanted those touches to get him off—to bring an end to this Hell.

Infuriatingly, John was deliberately denying him that.

Sherlock pulled helplessly against his silk restraints. Despite his practice at getting out of handcuffs and knotted rope, his wrists were immovable. John had been infuriatingly thorough. Damn his military training. Damn him.

Sherlock wanted very much to scream and rant about how he’d fill their bathtub with stomachs, leave them there for weeks, let the smell of mold and decomposition fill all of London.

Desperate as he was, speech was not coming easily. His threats came out as something more akin to, “John, stomachs tub! Mold.” The acid he meant to inject into his voice came out breathless and moany. Fuck it all.

John ignored him, even though he likely understood exactly what Sherlock was trying to say. He was not easily intimidated--especially by a man tied to a bed, with a dripping cock and sweat covering every inch of his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> You may have noticed that this showed a little bit more of Sherlock's mindset than the original fic did. It has been suggested that I write more of this story in Sherlock's POV. Stay tuned! I'm working on a few other projects right now, but I _may_ come back to this.


End file.
